It's just two guys sitting in an office for the better part of two hours, talking about stats and at-bats and making you regret ever signing up for that fantasy baseball league at your office that you never win yet consistently pay $50 to enter.

I don't know which marketing director first discovered that a single whole fried ham delivered to Roger Ebert's doorstep could launch an attached movie from obscurity to acclaim, but rest assured that person has since been promoted to VP.

For about the last three months, it's been impossible to look at a magazine rack and not see pictures of Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie looking pensive together or frolicking on the beach together or doing something together implying a certain, um, togetherness. This has given "Mr. and Mrs. Smith" the putrid smell of "Gigli."